


In the Scrawl Behind These Walls

by Gabriella_Marie



Category: The Dolls of New Albion: A Steampunk Opera - Shapera
Genre: Act 4 DONA is not a happy place, Gen, Priscilla needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 03:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14803134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriella_Marie/pseuds/Gabriella_Marie
Summary: Priscilla's never known anything besides the martial police state of New Albion. Sure, she'd heard stories of the before times, but they seem like somewhat of a fantasy, too sublime to be real. She wished things could be different, but in all likelihood, they couldn't.





	In the Scrawl Behind These Walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grandpa Martin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Grandpa+Martin).



Walls. The same four walls and the same grandfather clock slowly ticking away the time, ticking away her life. She felt the clacking of the police officer’s carriages trundling along the cobblestones, even from the hidden room somewhere beneath the ground. Her mother had told her that things had once been different, that people had walked the street without fear of the government, that there weren’t raids on people’s homes and public executions, bodies looking out at the crowd glassy-eyed and empty. When she was younger, she had loved the stories of the time before the Bonfire, of her mother’s own high-flying life. Now though, they hurt. They just reminded her of a better world, a better life, one she’d never be able to have. The clockwork mechanisms and gears turned endlessly, turning the city and the mechanisms that drive people’s lives. She stared at the wallpaper, letting out a sigh. She’d never known her father, as he’d been taken away when she was a baby, but she hated him for the name he’d cursed her with. Every time she’d gone out, growing less and less as the years went by, she felt the stares, the outright glares and disgust. Everyone wh0 saw her knew that she was the granddaughter of Edgar McAllistair, the one who’d created the Dolls in the first place, and the daughter of Byron McAllister, heavily involved with Dolls, part of that Doll-worshipping cult, and the most memorable figure from just before the riots (she’d heard some say that they’d never have happened if it wasn’t for him). She knew from the things scattered around the house and in the attic that the McAllistars had once been a wealthy family, well-respected and important. Not so anymore, she supposed. These days, the McAllistaer name was naught but shameful.

_Her mother was heading to the store, and wouldn’t leave her home. She felt the bubble of nervousness that always rose up in her when she left the house hot in her throat._

_“Mother, please… Why can’t I just stay home, where it’s safe?”_

_“I’m not going to be around forever, Priscilla… You need to be able to go outside of the house, not be so scared. Besides, nowhere is safe these days.”_

_She saw the truth in her words, though she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Even if  her mother didn’t die, no one could escape the government forever. Besides, even if it was a delusion, it was a comforting one. Her mother kept tugging her towards the door, and she felt almost paralyzed with fear._

_“Mother, please don’t make me go. Please…”_

_“I’m sorry, but this is something that needs to be done.”_

_She froze up at the threshold to the house, her last bastion of safety. With a last tug, she lost her balance and stumbled across into the cold, dangerous Outside._

_“Now, Priscilla, this time, you’re going to be on your own, okay? You know your way around the city, and I’m not always gonna be around to help you. You know what you need to buy, right?”_

_“Um… yes?”_

_“Good, good. I’m gonna go grab a drink. I just need to forget right now.”_

_And with that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Priscilla frozen as the crowd brushed past her._

_“Okay, Priscilla, you can do this. The sooner you buy the things, the sooner you can go home, the sooner you can be safe again.”_

_Taking a glance up at the sky, clouded grey from the smog, she started walking. She could do this. She could do this. Government-issued posters were plastered everywhere, warning of the danger of Dolls and of disobeying the government. “_

 

**IT’S JUST A TRINKET, A SMALL MEMENTO,” THEY MAY SAY. “IT’S HARMLESS.” NOTHING IS HARMLESS. BE A GOOD CITIZEN; REPORT YOUR NEIGHBORS - FOR THE SAFETY OF US ALL.**

 

**DOLLS RUINED OUR CITY. DON’T LET THEM RUIN YOU.**

 

**THE GOVERNMENT IS ALWAYS RIGHT. OBEY OR ELSE.**

  


_She huddled closer into herself, speeding up until she reached a shop that sold mechanical parts. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d been able to find it. Shoes slapping on the cobblestone, she walked up to the shop._

**_BLACKB  RN’S M  RV  LOUS ME  HAN  CS_ ** _the sign proudly proclaimed. She yelped slightly at the bell that rang when she opened the door. A portly man stood behind the counter, polishing a mechanical bird._

_“Um… Hi?”_

_“Well hello there, what can I do you fo - Wait a minute… you’re that MacAllistar whelp, aren’t you?”_

_“Well… yes… but I  just need to get some things to fix the heating system; I’ll be right out of your hair, I promise…”_

_“Like hell I’m selling to a McAllistar! Get out of my shop! Out, out! You people are everything that’s wrong with this city-state!”_

_His voice blew through her the way a brick parts waves of mist. She could feel a  tremble starting up, but she forced the words to her lips anyways._

_‘Wait, I-I can make it worth your while. I have cash here; a lot! I can pay, name your price!”_

_“Hmph, fine. But don’t think I’m doing it because of you, MacAllistair. 1500 Lillians.”_

_“What? But that’s…”_

_“A ripoff, I know. Now can you pay or not? I believe you said that you sorely needed these pieces.”_

_“Fine…”_

_She rooted around in the small leather  pouch attached to her waist. It was almost all the money her mother had given her, but she managed to scrounge them up._

_“Here’s the money…”_

_He looked at the Lillians with a greedy look in his eye before swiping them off the counter and into his pocket. He then rooted around for a bit and dropped the rust-stained gears onto the wooden counter with a clang. Priscilla wasn’t very familiar with mechanical stuff, so she just had to trust that these were the right ones. She reached for them, planning to just go back home as soon as possible, but her hand closed on empty space. He’d swept the mechanical bits back into his apron._

_“You really thought I’d do anything for a MacAllister?”_

_“But… but the money?”_

_“Well, obviously. I’d have to be stupid to turn down cash. Besides, you guys used to be one of those old wealthy families. Just doing a bit of redistributing to those who are more deserving.”_

_She stared in wide-eyed astonishment at him. He obviously wasn’t about to give the money back, staring at her with a wicked grin on his face as he was. He knew as well as she did that she couldn’t go to the police, that they would just blame everything on her; she was a McAllistair, after all. With a last glare, she walked out of the store, feeling the few Lillians still left acutely clinking against one another. This was the only store she knew of that sold those gears. She didn’t even have enough money left for a train ride to the industrial district. She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to go home. She pushed the hood of her cloak over her head and hurried down the streets, pretending to not notice the glares tossed her way or the people who “accidentally” bumped into her. The clocktower ground its rusted gears and the bells rung out in dissonant harmony, a clanking song forced out from the warped metal. The streets and buildings blurred by until she had finally, thankfully, reached the door. She reached into her pocket for the key, fumbling around for a bit, as it felt like her fingers were nearly frozen. She slid the key into the lock, feeling relief rush over her as she stepped back into her home. The sun was starting to set, but there was still a good amount of light, even with all of the boarded-up windows. It had gotten colder since she had left, especially with the drafts streaming through the shattered glass. She swore she could see her breath streaming out in front of her, as she went for the blankets that were piled up by the door. She sank into the corner, wrapping the blankets about her, trying, trying to get warm. Her mother wouldn’t be home anytime soon, she knew. She didn’t go out to drink too often, but when she did, she drank herself to oblivion. Oftentimes, she wouldn’t come home for days. She  thought that she should probably go to her bed, but she didn’t really have the energy to move out from under the blankets. Feeling the chill seep into her, she huddled deeper into the blankets, drifting into fitful sleep to the tune of the creaking and clanking of the ancestral home._

 

A latent shiver rushed through her from the memory. She was honestly dreading going out there again. She knew she’d have to soon, though. There was hardly any food left in the kitchen anymore, the emptiness staring back at her accusingly and reflecting the growing emptiness in her stomach back at her. God, she missed her mother. But ever since her descent into madness years back, and the government hauling her off to the asylum, she’d been alone, her voice forever echoing in recursive loops throughout the dilapidated mansion. Sometimes she wondered if she might be going mad as well. She swore she could feel her tentative hold on the slippery strings of her mind slipping sometimes. She didn’t know if she could do this anymore. She thought she might be breaking. And through all that, the clock just kept ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.


End file.
